Reunited
by Dustfingers-Angel
Summary: (My OC) Charlie has been living with Mycroft for months now. She's struggled through relapse after Sherlock's death and is just coming through the other side, when she's reunited with her best friend and (ex) flatmate again. Part of my Charlie James series - sequel to Left Broken By His Fall. Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. TW relapse, past self harm.
1. Chapter 1

I heard the door opening from upstairs. I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets; my hair was tied back as best I could and I'd just put my glasses back on. I padded along the corridor, Mycroft had said he wanted to see me when he got back so there was no point in making him wait for me. "Mycroft?" I called down. He didn't answer; he did that sometimes when something hadn't gone to plan. I rolled my eyes. "Mycroft" I drummed down the stairs, watching my bare feet, "what's…?" I looked up and froze.

I stepped down slowly, once, twice to the floor. My mouth hung slightly open. I blinked repeatedly as I stared at him. I stared and stared and a tear ran down my face, my voice shaking "You…"

Sherlock gazed up at me, "Me" he replied softly.

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. My voice caught harshly in my throat, a harsh sob the only noise breaking through. I looked away, turned from him with my hand to my mouth. _How? How could he…? How could he be here? How could he_ lie _to me for so long?_ I stifled another sob.

I slowly brought my gaze back to him, "Sh… Sherlock" I breathed. I walked forward, eyes locked with his, my heart pounding. I staggered toward him, my own hesitance strange to me. Sherlock stood tall in front of me. He looked so tired; his hair had grown long and tangled, his stubble had come in rough, he needed a shower badly and his clothes were only good for the bin. But it was still _him;_ the eyes, the face, the cheekbones – the stance was the same, the air about him still held that same presence that _was_ him, Sherlock Holmes. He had become a different person entirely and yet he was exactly the same – still my Sherlock.

"Charlie" he said, staring down on me with the slightest hint of a smile, his voice tinged with arrogance "I'm-"

 _Slap!_

"You _bastard_!"

Sherlock stumbled sideways, hand automatically going to the now bright red side of his face, his voice changed, weaker – broken "Charlie, I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up." I hit him again and again with the flat of my hand, weak hits falling on his arms "You abandoned me for two years! Let me believe you were dead! I _relapsed_ because of you!" he physically flinched, not at each strike, but at the words "Mycroft barely let's me out of his _sight_ any more! I'm trapped here! You selfish, thoughtless, arrogant _idiot_! How could _you_ be so stupid?! I- I…"

I cried loudly, shaking as I stumbled away from him a few steps. Betrayal and anger mingled with relief and joy as I watched him look across at me from behind his hair. I stepped backward again, my heel colliding with the foot of the stairs causing me to loose me balance and tumble gracelessly onto the step. I slumped there, staring up at him with tears running down my face. There was pain in his eyes, pain and guilt. He could barely hold my gaze, where my eyes were filling with tears, Sherlock didn't cry, but his eyes were full of hurt, regret and a plea for forgiveness. He took a tentative pace forward. When I made no attempt to stop him, he came to kneel in front of me. Sherlock took my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs across my knuckles. I could see him counting the scars that bridged my wrists; he knew which ones were there when he'd left, he knew which ones I'd made since. His eyes searched mine, deducing everything that was secret. He swallowed silently, licked his lips and breathed deeply.

Sherlock wiped the tears from my face before tilting my head up to look at him. The faintest hint of a bruise could be seen at the neck of his top, and I knew from the way he held himself that his back, chest and legs must be hurt as well. "What have you gone and done now?" I muttered, tracing the edge of the bruise on his neck, "you fool".

He laughed weakly, "I guess this is what happens when you're not with me"

"I guess – well hope you've learned your lesson" I laughed weakly, my voice hoarse as I tried to keep back more tears. Leaning forward I tried to push his hair back from his face, "You need a hair cut"

He chuckled "I know, but I came to get you first"

"Well that's sweet Darling, how very thoughtful." I said sarcastically.

Sherlock leant forward and said softly, "Sarcasm as a defence mechanism – isn't that what I said the first time we met? My first deduction of you."

I smiled "Shut up Sherlock." Thoughtlessly I leant in and kissed him. Sherlock's hand went to my neck, the other to my side. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding it away from our faces. It seemed so unreal, even as our lips pressed together and his hands caressed my skin; I thought I was dreaming, I was hallucinating again, but here he was, with me.

I broke away then leant my forehead against his, " _And_ you need to shave"

Sherlock grinned, "What? You don't like it?"

"I prefer my consulting detectives clean shaven." He helped me to my feet, "Who knew the truth, Sherlock? Mycroft obviously, did John…?"

"No – Mycroft, my parents, Molly and a select group of my homeless network, that's all"

"Oh, 'that's all', really." I growled "Honestly, I need to teach you-"

"Sarcasm as a defence-"

"Sherlock"

"Sorry" he said as he took my hand, "I'm sorry" he smiled sincerely.

I sighed and hugged him gently, "oh, shut up." He winced slightly but repositioned himself to avoid bruises then placed another kiss to my lips.

"I thought" _kiss_ "kissing was" _kiss_ "only for" _kiss_ "special" _kiss_ "occasions." I said quietly.

 _Kiss_ "My resurrection isn't" _kiss_ "a special occasion?"

"You've not been 'resurrected', you just" _kiss_ "stopped _lying_ " _kiss_ "to me"

Sherlock looked at me for a moment, before kissing me again more deeply, "And I'm so, so sorry"

I grinned and shoved him away playfully, "Don't quote Doctor Who at me when you should be making a serious apology"

He smirked, "Sorry." I hugged him more carefully. "Mycroft has a car waiting outside for us, are you coming?"

I gave a sarcastic sigh and laughed "Oh, alright then." And we walked hand in hand from the mansion to the car, the way we should be.


	2. Chapter 2

Once Sherlock was cleaned up - showered, hair cut and shaved, with a new change of clothes - he turned to look at me. He looked like he had before the fall, a little tired perhaps, a little older, more worn.

To Mycroft and 'Anthea', he looked as if he was back to the way he had been, back to cocky, know-it-all, overbearing Sherlock. But I knew he wasn't. I knew he wasn't back to the way he had been - he was exhausted, not just from whatever he'd just came back from, no, he was tired of the life he'd been living the past two years. He held himself taller than was necessary, making up for something - probably the beating he was still recovering from. He was more talkative, talking to cover up the fact that he needed to rest and recover. He was being more distant, standing further away from anyone, not just me, and he was avoiding eye contact, avoiding making any connection just yet. He had suffered the last two years, badly. I could relate.

Mycroft looked his brother up and down, "Sherlock, I think it might be for the best if you wait until tomorrow to announce your return. Have a decent sleep for once"

He looked across the room at me, "Fine, but I'm stay with Charlie - we've got catching up to do"

"Alright, I'll take you both back to my home-"

"No" I interrupted.

"What?" Mycroft scowled.

"I want to go _home_ , I want to go back to 221B, with Sherlock"

Mycroft was agitated, "Do you really think-"

"We're going home" Sherlock stated firmly, "We're going back to 221B, alone. We are not staying at your mansion Mycroft"

The older Holmes clenched his jaw, "Fine" he hissed, "I'll organise discrete transport back to your flat"

And he did. We arrived at 221B without being noticed. We got inside and quickly made our way upstairs. Mrs Hudson was away on a short holiday, she'd be back tomorrow afternoon, we didn't have to face reality just yet.

Sherlock glanced around the room, noting the absent mirror. It was clean though, Mrs Hudson had continued cleaning the flat after I'd had to leave. Sherlock paused in the living room, taking it in again. Silently I took his hand, "Let's go to bed, let's just go to bed" I said, not wanting to think about the mess I'd been in the last time I was there.

He had smiled kindly, gazing at me. "Of course, it's not like much has changed"

"Yeah" I whispered shortly.

Before I'd had a chance to realise what was happening, Sherlock's arms were around me. Gingerly, I placed my hands on his arms. He nuzzled his head into the corner of my neck, gently kissing me. "Let's go to bed then" Holding me close to his side, we walked through to our bed room. He stopped just inside the door and kissed my forehead. "I'm glad I'm home with you" he said quietly.

"I'm glad you're back"

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and again kissed my forehead before going to fetch us both pyjamas. He handed me a black and red set with tea cups on them and started changing.

I turned my back to him, aware of how I must look. I pulled off my top and bra quickly as possible, grabbing my pyjama top. I flinched as gentle hands came to rest on my waist. I clutched my top to my chest. Sherlock knew I'd never had any problem with him touching me, but at that moment I was still 'healing', I was still in recovery, I barely even wanted him to see me, let alone touch me, "Mycroft says you're getting back to better health again, putting on weight again."

"Yeah"

"It's okay," he said softly, "You're trying so hard, I'm proud of you." I'd lost so much weight in the last two years, my ribs had stuck out beneath my skin, my hips had poked out jaggedly. Now there were slight curves on my body again, I looked less angular, less ill. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Charlie" Sherlock's fingers roamed across my flat stomach, passing each other and pulling me close, placing a kiss to the side of my head, "You're doing so well"

I stood there in his arms, taking in the moment, the feeling I'd been missing for two years, the feeling of his arms around me. I gently shrugged him off, pulling my top on and quickly changed out of my jeans into my pyjama trousers. I turned to see Sherlock sitting on the edge of our bed. My eyes widened, my lips parted, searching for something to say.

"I couldn't really cover it up" he said quietly. The whole of his chest was covered in bruises, and where there weren't bruises, there were long cuts that had only recently been stitched up.

"What...? What happened?"

"The last job I did got a little messy" he said. "I'm on a lot of pain killers" he added with a slight wince.

"Oh Sherlock" I breathed, wincing at his injuries. I sat next to him, carefully resting my hand on his arm. His back was just as bad, his shoulders seemed to have taken the brunt of it. There were red friction marks beginning to bruise around his wrists. "What have you... oh God, Sherlock" I struggled to stop myself staring at his wounds.

"Hey, I'm okay, Charlie, Darling, I'm okay" he rested his hand over my own, rubbing his thumb back and forth. "Give me a few weeks and I'll be right as rain. Charlie, I can see you panicking, it's going to be okay, I swear" Gently, he cupped my cheek in his hand, "Don't worry yourself Charlie"

"Sherlock, look at you! This isn't something you can brush off – you're really hurt"

"I know, but there's nothing to be done about that now, is there? We're just going to have to wait until it heals. Now, come on, get in" he said with a sweet smile. He stood, walking round to the other side of the bed and slowly lay down.

I crawled into bed, lying to face him. We lay there for some time, starting at each other, trying to take in as much of the other was we could. Sherlock looked so worn. He shifted closer to me, resting his forehead against mine, his hand on my arm. I wanted to reach out and feel him beside me again, to feel his warmth, his presence. "I don't want to hurt you" I said in a voice that was barely a whisper.

"You won't. I want you close to me, I want you near me again. I want to feel you beside me. I want you to hold me, I want you, I want to go back to the way things were - back to you and I."

"Sherlock... we weren't... really like that, you _know_ that... It- We weren't all intimacy, it was rare touches, occasional kisses. You know that."

"Please" he said softly, "It's been two years, I just want to make up for it, all of it - every birthday, every Christmas, every long lie in, every night John's away, every long weekend we'd go away for. I want to make it up to you for what I've done, please? Is that okay?"

There were tears in my eyes. "It's okay, is okay Sherlock. I thought you'd- I panicked. I thought you'd been romanticising the past, because you'd missed it - I thought you were remembering things the way you wanted, not the way they were. But... I want you and I want things back the way things were..." Gently, I had snuggled close to him, my chest against his. I carefully wrapped an arm around him, avoiding stitches.

Sherlock leant in to me, kissing my lips softly. He kissed me over and over again, until his lips lingered a little longer, and his tongue swiped across my bottom lip, pressing gently. This wasn't normal for us, it never had been; a few drunken nights, yeah, and the Christmas party, apparent from them, this was new.

But I let him deepen the kiss, my heart racing. His hands were gentle against my skin. He pulled me close against him, holding me tightly with an arm around my back. "Sh-Sherlock" I pushed against him slightly, trying to get more space.

"Charlie?" His hand slide to my side, the other brushing back my hair, concern showed on his face.

I took a few deep breaths, bringing my heart rate down, "I- I just need to- to slow down, just- just slow down a little"

I nodded, saying genuinely, "I'm sorry" he gently kissed my lips, "I've just wanted to be near you again for so long, I got carried away, I didn't consider..."

"It's okay, let's just take it slowly" my hands ghosted over his chest, over the bruises and cuts he'd obtained. Lying on my side, leaning on my hip, I braced my elbows on either side of his chest. Dipping my head, I kissed his bruised chest softly - covering each mark on his pale skin with gently place kisses.

He ran his hands down my back, momentarily pausing on my ribs, my waist, my hips in turn. His hands were rougher than before, his palms and finger tips callused, but he was more confident, more sure of himself as he touched me, he was more willing to toe the line between friends and something more. Was it just because he'd been alone for so long? Or because he'd gone from my constant company to complete isolation? Was he even thinking?

These thoughts drifted through the back of my mind, but I couldn't let them come forward. I kissed his soft lips, my hair falling down over one shoulder. "I will - never - leave you - again"

"Shh" I whispered. Maybe I was more willing to toe that line now as well. "Just kiss me"

And he did. I was wrapped in his arms, kissed and kissed again and again until Sherlock leant back, staring at me.

"What?"

"You're smiling"

"Yeah, and?"

"I missed that. I missed your beautiful smile. I had nothing to remind me of it."

"Maybe you should stick around and you might see it more often" I was a bitter comment, and Sherlock knew that. He nuzzles his head against my shoulder.

"I promise, I'll be here for a very long time, Charlie"

"You better be"


	3. Chapter 3

I looked up as I heard Mrs Hudson downstairs, saying, _"Oh Sherlock! What happened?"_

 _"Nothing serious, Mrs Hudson, nothing serious at all"_ I heard Sherlock hurriedly climbing the stairs to get away from our landlady's questions. She'd been traumatised at first, but no-one could say she was ecstatic that Sherlock was back. I waited and the door opened to reveal a mildly upset Sherlock, there was blood on his collar and more traces around his nostril.

"He didn't take it well then"

"Not exactly" Sherlock hung his head, staring at the floor as he unbuttoned his coat. "And he got a bit more violent than you did"

"Believe me, Sherlock, if I was healthier I would have been equally as violent – some of us don't have the energy"

"Sorry" he mumbled, stiffly shrugging his jacket off his shoulders.

I stood, taking his jacket from him and hanging it up. I turned back to watch him remove his waistcoat, and reveal the blood stained shirt underneath. " _Damn_ it" I ran through to the kitchen, throwing open the cupboard and fetching the first aid kit.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"You've burst stitches"

"Oh"

"Come here" I pulled out medical thread and a sterilised needle. "What the Hell did he actually _do_?"

Sherlock sat down, with his back to me, and began to unbutton his shirt, "Well, uh... John strangled me. Then he strangled me again. Um, and then he headbutted my face."

"I would have said that you deserved it, but that was a _bit_ excessive"

"No, I- I deserved it"

I closed my eyes for a second and sighed, "Well at least you recognise that" Gently I pulled off the bloodied shirt, assessing the damage. "How did you manage to do this though?"

"John, um, tackled me to the ground when he strangled me the first time"

"Ah" I wondered for a second how he hadn't felt it, but then dismissed the thought - with the amount of pain killers he was on I was he surprised he could feel anything at all. "Sit" I pulled a high stool over and he sat, I cleaned him up as best as I could before restitching the wounds. They were deeper than I'd first thought.

Sherlock was unnervingly still while I stitched him back up. He barely moved a millimetre, never mind an inch. "Sherlock?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Can you feel this?"

He nodded, "I can, yes"

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really"

"...right. When was the last time you took painkillers?"

"This morning"

"Are you sure it doesn't hurt? You need to tell me if it does"

"I'm fine"

I sighed silently, staring at him for a second before I returned to playing doctor. Three lots of stitches had burst, I'd finished two and the third wouldn't take long. Of all the times I'd had to stitch him up in the past, there was never a time when he'd said it _hadn't_ hurt – Sherlock hated getting stitches, he thought they were uncomfortable, inconvenient and unreliable, but overall he found them painful, sore to get done, sore to live with after.

I finished off the final lot and put the needle and remaining thread aside. I turned him to face me, " _Are_ you okay?" I asked softly.

"I'm fine"

"Really." I said "...The painkillers have worn off by now, I know you're in pain and I know the stitches would have hurt. You _are_ in pain, Sherlock. I know your tolerance, I know how much you can take; Sherlock, I've seen you in every situation, I've seen to every injury you've had since we moved in together. This isn't... this isn't right... Sherlock, talk to me."

He could only look at me for a second before his eyes drifted down to the floor, "I guess my tolerance for pain changed while I was away..." gingerly he wrapped his hands around mine, "I went through more pain in the last two years than I had in my life, I adjusted... I didn't mean to worry you"

I looked at him, his body language, his face, his eyes; how they showed emotions so subtle it had taken me years to see. Stepping forward, I rested my hands and head against his chest. "I just... I just need to... to learn... you again"

Gentle hands held my back and Sherlock pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'm sorry"

"Don't be"


	4. Chapter 4

*Slight time jump*

XXXXX

I blinked awake. Sherlock was already up, little to my surprise. The sound of his violin floated round our flat, interrupted occasionally by the scratching of pencil on paper. He was composing. I stretched and got out of bed, padding down the corridor on bare feet. In the living room Sherlock was standing by the window, music stand to his right, violin in hand, playing.

He turned slightly and flashed me a smile in acknowledgement, never stopping playing. I crossed the room to Sherlock's chair where I curled up and listened to the new melody. I'd missed waking up to the sound of Sherlock's violin. After a while Sherlock turned to me, he said "Tell me how this sounds Charlie" before playing through the piece. I listened attentively.

"It sounds great Sherlock." I smiled, "it's for the wedding, isn't it? The first dance?"

He smiled with all the modestly he possessed, "Yes"

"Then it works well, I think you just need to quicken the tempo up a little though"

He nodded, "Thank you" After playing it through several more times Sherlock was happy with it, and recorded it. Coming to my side, he said, "Up you get"

"Why?" I raised an eyebrow.

"It's the first dance." He stated, "I need to choreograph it"

I sighed, "Oh alright then" I stood then looked down at Sherlock's shoes next to my bare feet,

"Shoes off, I'm not getting bruised toes _again_ " He rolled his eyes but kicked his shoes off anyway. Taking my hand he led me to the centre of the floor, quickly switching on the recording and gently pulled me into hold. "Have you got an idea for this one?"

"Yes" he smiled happily. He began counting us in, "One, two, three; two, two, three; three, two, three…" It wasn't the first time I had danced with Sherlock. I knew how to let him guide me until I got to grips with it. He was hopeless at explaining his choreography; his mind could process it and put it into action, but allow an explanation to leave his mouth? Not possible.

Sometime later I began to understand what Sherlock wanted and I fell into step with him quite easily. Maybe an hour or so after we'd begun we could complete the sequence without trodding on each other's feet. By 12:30 I was good enough for him to actually compliment me, "Brilliant, excellent - that's good, very good"

I opened my mouth to reply but my stomach interrupted with a loud growl, "Hm, I think I'm hungry" I muttered.

"Once more through?" He asked hopefully. Sherlock was always so happy dancing.

"Once" I agreed firmly.

He beamed, waiting for the music to repeat itself again. Sherlock held my hand and placed his other hand on the small of my back. Reaching up I put my hand on his shoulder. I counted in my head - one, two, three; one, two, three; back, two, three; forward, two, three… I leant my head against Sherlock's chest, closing my eyes.

"Charlie" he said softly, "are you tired?"

"Mm, a little" we kept on dancing.

"Aww, poor little girl"

"Hey - I'm not little; well I'm not that little. And I'm a woman, not a girl"

"Yes Charlie, of course" he mocked kindly.

"Shut up"

He pouted and then smiled. The finale of the song was approaching. Sherlock carefully tipped me backwards. He smiled, "I missed you"

"I missed you too Sherlock"

"Sorry" he repeated sincerely.

"'s okay"

He pulled me upright and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. "Take me to the kitchen" I mumbled into his chest.

"Charlie" he moaned.

"I've had to get your phone out of the jacket you were _wearing_ \- take me to the kitchen, damn it"

He rolled his eyes but picked me up anyway, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me through to the kitchen. "You're such a child" he said, a laugh in his voice. He sat me up on the counter, "What do you want?"

"Toast?"

"Yeah"

"Two slices?"

"Please"

"Okay"

"Thank you" I swung my legs back and forth, watching Sherlock make my food. He was better at that kind of thing now, since he'd come back. I was getting to the point of forgiving him, nearly. I could sleep comfortably at night now, knowing he'd still be there when I woke up. And he was trying, he really was. There was no leaving the flat without telling me, he wouldn't raise his voice, he wouldn't shoot the wall when he got bored. I knew it was difficult for him, but he put all his effort into staying calm around me, knowing how jumpy I'd become.

"We need to teach the dance to John and Mary" Sherlock said.

"Yeah"

"I'll text them" he said as the toast popped.

"I could teach them the basics then you could perfect it" I suggested for their sake.

"Yes, that would work" he opened the cupboard, "Jam?"

"Yes please" He spread the strawberry jam over my toast and handed it to me on a plate.

"Thanks" I smiled, "Have you had anything to eat recently?"

"How recently?"

"Yesterday, at least"

"Then no"

"Sherlock!"

"I'm not hungry"

"No, but believe it or not, you're still human"

"Hmph"

I put the plate down and hopped down off the counter, "Eat that, I'll make some more"

"Charlie-"

"It's fine"

"Well why don't we share this then I'll take you out for lunch"

I stared at him, eyebrows raised, "Take me out for lunch? What's got into you?"

"Nothing. I don't know what you're talking about" he tried to dismiss it.

But I laughed, "Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Is this about yesterday?"

"No"

"Just because Mycroft bought me lunch doesn't mean you have to - he's just in the habit now" He didn't answer, busying himself with tidying up. I couldn't help but laugh, "Sherlock, you wouldn't be jealous of Mycroft would you?"

"Mycroft?" Sherlock knew I'd worked it out, and now he was playing along.

"Well, I spent the majority of last year living with him, he paid the mortgage for 221B, bought me food, everything"

"I've got nothing to be jealous of when it comes to _Mycroft_ " he spat, and I knew I'd hit a nerve.

"It's okay Sherlock."

"I'm _not_ jealous"

I hopped down, "Of course, whatever you say"

"I'm not _jealous_ of Mycroft"

"Alright" I said, leaning against the counter beside him.

"I'm _not_ "

"If you say so"

"Charlie, I am _not jealous_ of my _brother_ "

I tilted my head as I looked up at him, "Okay." He huffed, still trying to remain stern. I tiptoed up and hugged him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. "So where are we going for lunch?"


	5. Chapter 5 - wedding pt 1

Part 1 of 3

XXXXX

 _John paced back and forth in front of Sherlock, "Is Charlie going to be here soon?" he asked for the umpteenth time._

" _Any minute now" Sherlock answered, repeating the phrase for the twelfth time in the last twenty minutes._

" _What's taking her so long?"_

" _She had an_ appointment _" Sherlock stressed, knowing Charlie wouldn't want him talking about her therapy sessions, "and she said something about going to Mycroft's"_

 _John paused and glanced at Sherlock, "Do you think she'll be okay today?"_

" _Okay? With what?"_

" _The…_ alcohol _?" John said quietly so that their conversation was not over heard "I'm just worried that someone will notice her not drinking and say something and she'll get offended and… well, you know"_

" _She won't" said Sherlock bluntly._

" _She was less than an_ inch _off punching Lestrade in the face that Christmas"_

" _I said she won't. Charlie will be fine, don't worry about her – you know she hates that"_

" _Aren't you concerned?"_

 _Sherlock swiftly guided John away to a corner, "_ Yes _" Sherlock hissed "but quietly"_

 _John glanced away and bit his lip, "If you think so, I'll trust your judgement, you know her best"_

" _Yes_ _, I do"_

XXXXX

When I arrived I checked my watch. I knew I was on time but I had panicked slightly on the way there that I would be late. My appointment had gone well but it ran over because she wanted to talk about how I felt about going to the wedding. I had stopped in at Mycroft's on the way there to get dressed and get Mycroft's wedding present, seeing as he wasn't coming - _"I'm far too busy for such trivial nonsense"_

I made my way to the toilets and hung up my coat (it was really just one of Sherlock's older ones but I wore that specific one most often so it 'belonged' to me). I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in one of the full length mirrors – I had to look twice. I barely recognised myself - in a good way for a change. Mycroft had bought me the dress the day before – it was ankle length, deep red, low cut with thick straps and long, thin silk sleeves that hung loosely at my sides. The bodice was fitted and embroidered with tiny swirling patterns that were made up of minuscule roses. Mycroft had, of course, bought me matching shoes; they were identical in colour, two inch wedged heeled boots, and they were surprisingly comfortable. I hadn't seen myself in it until now; I had left Mycroft's without having the chance to get to a decent sized mirror and only Mycroft's reassurance.

Self-consciously I smooth down my dress. I tried to sort my hair into some kind of order, adjusted my glasses and went to find Sherlock and John. I wandered through the building, folding and unfolding my arms awkwardly until I spotted Sherlock and John talking in a room off of the corridor I was on. Relieved, I rushed into the room, "Sherlock, John!"

Both men turned round at the sound of my voice. John's jaw dropped a little, "Charlie… wow. I mean, I mean… you look… wow, um, amazing! I didn't think… didn't expect…" I laughed at John's awed expression and blushed as he stared. The dress was a sharp contrast from my usual shirt and jeans. I grinned and John pulled me into a friendly hug. Then I looked to Sherlock, who was unusually quiet.

Sherlock was staring with eyebrows raised and mouth opened and was blinking repeatedly, giving him a look of pure amazement. "I know, I probably look ridiculous – don't blame me, Mycroft bought it-"

"No! You look beautiful, I… wait – did you say _Mycroft_?"

 _Beautiful_ ; I smiled. "Yes, don't give me that look. I'll tell you _all_ about it later"

A woman (who I presumed was Mary's chief bridesmaid) appeared, "We're getting started now, better get ready" she said with an Irish accent. She was confident and I knew her main intention of the day was to not go home alone. I found myself judging her cruelly, but smiled masking my thoughts – I didn't like her, not at all. John nodded and she left. He opened his mouth to speak but was swiftly interrupted by Greg Lestrade.

"Hey, has anyone seen Ch… oh, Charlie! Wow – you look amazing!" Greg stared with an open mouthed smile.

"Thank you Greg"

He shook his head, "Sorry Charlie, I don't mean to stare, but I just wasn't expecting… you… this…" he gestured at my dress and I felt the blood rise to my cheeks." And your hair looks great, you should do that more often" I had straightened it at Mycroft's and fixed it into a side parting.

"Thanks, I think we're supposed to be getting started now?"

"Yeah, yeah of course – I saved you a seat."

"Thanks" I turned back to Sherlock and John, "Good luck" then I left side by side with Lestrade.


	6. Chapter 6 - wedding pt 2

"Is that him?" Sherlock asked, staring at the man "Major Sholto?"

"Yeah," Mary replied, "I didn't think he was going to come"

"That's James Sholto?" I asked quietly, holding my arms as I stood close by Sherlock's side.

Sherlock nodded, "Yes"

"He knew my Dad"

I noticed how Sherlock froze slightly, how his head snapped a fraction of an inch in my direction. He knew what that meant. "Oh?"

"They trained together, the last time I saw him I was three"

"You should go talk to him" Mary said enthusiastically.

"You don't have to" Sherlock quickly added, despite Mary's look of confusion, "Only talk to him if you want to, if you feel you're ready"

I nodded my head, wet my lips with my tongue before biting my lip. "I might never see him again; one chance in a lifetime"

"It's up to you" Sherlock rested his hand against the small of my back, rubbing it comfortingly.

"Once in a lifetime" I repeated, more to myself. I nodded, "I'm going to talk to him"

"It'll be fine"

I nodded, "Thank you" I took a deep breath and made my way across the hall to where John stood talking to the older major.

I stopped a few feet away, trying to calm myself down enough to move any closer. After a moment John spotted me, "Charlie" he greeted, reaching out his hand to take mine and guide me over to enter the conversation, "Sir, this is Charlie James, a good friend of mine, Charlie, this is-"

"Major James Sholto" I interrupted timidly, "We _have_ met, but it was a very long time ago."

"Charlie James," he repeated, " _Charlotte_ James, no, it can't be" he smiled "you were, what two?"

"Three, I believe, I can't really remember"

John looked back and forth between the two of us, "How... did you meet?"

"I had the privilege of knowing Charlotte's father, we trained alongside each other. He was a great man"

I smiled a little, "Thank you"

"I had no idea" John said, eyes widening.

"John, could we- do you mind if we have a moment, please?"

"Of course, of course, sure" He nodded, the surprise still showing on his face as he left us.

"So, how have you been?" Sholto asked.

"I... it's been tough, _really_ tough actually. But things are coming round."

"I read that you were with this Sherlock Holmes, that must be a story - how did you meet?" he smiled kindly, obviously aware that I was becoming self conscious.

I laughed quietly, "Um, we met in rehab. Then we moved in together."

"Rehab?"

"... yeah. Just a lot of bad things happened, and I didn't deal with it well. I was okay for a while but... well I'm recovering."

He nodded understandingly, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but I always wondered what you spent the money on" At my father's funeral he'd spoke to me, I barely remembered, and he'd given me an envelope. I hadn't opened it for years, not until I was out of hospital. It was a letter talking about my Dad, and giving me encouragement for the future. Along with a blank check.

"I used it to put a deposit on the first flat I shared with Sherlock." I answered smiling at the memory.

"Thanks good."

"I... I wouldn't have been able to recover without that letter... It changed things, _really_... I know you wrote all about him, but, what was he _like_? What's the first thing you remember about him?"

"About your father" I nodded, "He was happy. And he always talked about you, and your mother. His favourite part of the day was last thing at night when he would phone you both. He would get you to say good night to the whole tent, and you always did. He wanted to help people, to do the best for everyone even if doing so wasn't pretty. I think you've turned out a lot like him. I'm sure he'd be proud of you."

I shook my head, "No, no, he couldn't. Not with everything I've done"

"And what about everything you've over come? That's more important. I'm sure John thinks so too, and no doubt Sherlock Holmes as well."

I smiled meekly, "Thank you Sir, for everything."

"It was my honour, after all your father did for me" he smiled, then looked over my shoulder, "I think you should return to Mr Holmes, he looks worried"

I glanced back, "Normally I'm not so comfortable to talk to strangers, he knows that"

"We're not strangers, not entirely."

"No, not entirely I suppose"

"You have a good friend in him, Charlotte, you can tell how much he cares for you"

I felt myself blushed, "He's... amazing, yeah. Life without him was horrible... But he's back now, and we're trying to get back to the way things were."

"Sometimes, the way they were has to stay in the past – if it seems to be going a different direction it's because it's supposed to, remember that, please"

"I will, thank you, I will"


	7. Chapter 7 - wedding pt 3

Of course it couldn't have gone as planned. Attempted murder, the capture of a killer and near panic attack on my part made for our usual, ridiculous day to day lives. John wasn't overly amused, but all's well that ends well, don't they say.

Sherlock smiled as Mary and John went of to dance. He looked around but left the room via the glass door into the gardens. I had been standing at the opposite side of the room but as soon as I saw Sherlock leaving, I made my way through the crowd after the consulting detective. As he went into the garden, Sherlock picked up the coat and scarf he had left at the door. I walked into the garden after Sherlock, watching as he pulled on the coat and wrapped the blue scarf around his neck. "Who leaves a wedding early?" I called.

Sherlock stopped, "Well it appears it won't be me"

"No, I couldn't let you do that"

Sherlock nodded and looked up at the star splattered sky. I walked up behind him and waited for him to respond. After a few heavy seconds he turned and walked back to me with a smile. Sherlock brushed my hair back from my face and said "You should be inside enjoying yourself"

"It's too loud in there for me. Besides, after your violin the music doesn't compare" I flashed him a smile.

"Flattery? Is that supposed to convince me to go back inside?"

"No, it's supposed to make you stay just a little longer, for me"

"Hmm" I folded my arms against the cool breeze in the garden as Sherlock stepped closer to place his hands on my shoulders. He smiled.

"Dance with me Sherlock"

He frowned, mockingly, "Dance? With you? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, I even trust you not to stand on my toes" I teased.

Sherlock smiled, taking me into a waltz hold, looking down at me despite my new heels. He smiled softly. We began to dance a slow, graceful waltz, rising and falling gently in time with the music. I rested my head against Sherlock's chest, hearing his strong steady heartbeat. We spun round the grey slabs in the garden, my dress and Sherlock's coat drifting behind us as we danced on without stop.

We danced silently for a dozen songs or so, adjusting our timing as the songs changed. Sherlock held me close to him, a strong arm around my back. We eventually fell out of time and slowed down more and more until we weren't really dancing anymore, just stepping back and forth. I slipped out of hold to wrap both my arms around Sherlock's neck.

"I thought you had left about an hour at least an hour before I played, I hadn't seen you around" Sherlock said quietly "I thought you'd gone home, or to _Mycroft's_ "

I sighed, "I don't always just _go_ to Mycroft's" I couldn't be bothered having an argument about it now "besides, I'd gone to the toilet – I wasn't feeling well"

Sherlock frowned, "You were sick"

I couldn't meet his eyes "Yeah"

He played with my hair for a moment, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine now"

"It was the wine, wasn't it"

"… maybe, I uh… it doesn't matter, you know how I've been recently…"

"I'm sorry"

I shook my head, "Shut up. It doesn't matter"

"It made you sick" Sherlock argued firmly.

"It's _fine_ "

"Is it?" he asked seriously. When I wouldn't answer, he went on "How did it go this morning?"

"Good, yeah – she says I'm recovering well, I've been on an incline since _you_ got back"

He nodded silently, "You're cold."

He was right but it hadn't been bothering me, "A little…"

"Here" taking a step back Sherlock pulled off his coat and helped me into it – this one was new and the sleeves were far too long for me – mine's was _old_ ; just after I met him, Sherlock had a random growth spurt and I got his coat. He unknotted his scarf and looped it round my neck, wrapping it round loosely several times.

He traced his thumb over my cheek, admiring me. He gently pulled me close to him, wrapping his arms around me. I did love him and he knew that. And in his own individual way I knew he loved me too. As we began to sway again to the next song I could feel myself getting tired. My eyelids were heavy and soon I closed them and rested back against Sherlock's chest.

"After a while he asked, "Charlie, do you want go home now?"I nodded. "Okay, hold on" Sherlock scooped me up in his arms, bridal style.

I giggled sleepily, "This better not be a hint towards future plans, _Darling_ " I said sarcastically.

"Oh, I think one wedding is more than enough for a long time, Sweetheart" Sherlock was a master of sarcasm.

"Sherlock, my bag and jacket"

"I'll text John"

"The wedding presents are still in my bag"

"I'll tell John to get them"

I rolled my eyes and snuggled into Sherlock's chest, too tired to care. "Well tell him Mycroft's present is in there too" he nodded in response. Sherlock walked up to the car and sat me on the bonnet, going into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve the car keys. I sat forward to stand up but Sherlock got there first. He picked me up at the waist and spun me round and down to the ground.

I giggled, tiredness getting to me. Bashfully I grinned, "Thanks Sherlock"

"No problem Charlie" he opened the car door and let me in. I sat down and Sherlock was quick to get in the other side.

I kicked by heels off and curled up in the seat, "Sherlock" I muttered.

"Yes?"

"Please drive carefully" Sherlock laughed. "Don't laugh – I'm serious" I said sleepily.

"If you say so" he smirked "put your seat belt on"

"Mmm" I reached across and pulled the seat belt round me, "there"

"Thank you"

I closed my eyes and folded my arms across my stomach; the next thing I knew Sherlock was lying me down in our bed.


	8. Chapter 8

"Sherlock? Where are you?" I called tiredly, still lying facedown in bed, covers pulled up over you.

"Living room"

I sighed, forcing myself out of bed. I looked down at what I was wearing, an old, oversized top and the pyjama trousers I'd bought for Sherlock (they had a drawstring waist so once I tightened them they were wearable); I was sure Sherlock was up and dressed, so I made the decision to steal his dressing gown for the time being. Wrapping I around me tightly, I wandered through to the living room where Sherlock had said he was. "Morning" I smiled sleepily.

" _Afternoon_ " he corrected, not looking up from the laptop he had balancing on his knees.

I rolled my eyes, smiling, looking over at the man in the armchair, "I knew that"

"No you didn't"

"Shut up" I laughed, "What're you doing?"

"Found an old SD card, I'm just going to see what's on it"

I walked across to him, "Let me see then"

He looked up, "Not loaded yet"

I sat on the arm of the chair, looking down at the laptop screen and the loading bar. I yawned, my eyes closing, then struggling to open again. Before I could even manage that, a strong arm wrapped itself around my waist and pulled me down onto Sherlock's lap. I tried to be serious and keep a straight face, "And what do you think you're doing?"

"Making you comfortable"

I laughed, aloud. "Right, okay" I flung my legs up and over the arm of the chair, sitting up against Sherlock's chest and he sat the laptop on my thighs.

When the pictures loaded, Sherlock opened them into a slideshow. The first picture was blurry, but if I squinted I was almost sure it was our old flat. The next picture faded in and showed the same image again but clearer, the living room of our old flat - one sofa, a dining table, a bookcase and a lot of empty space. I grinned, looking up at Sherlock and the amused look on his face.

The next picture loaded and I burst out laughing. It was basically the same picture as before, only now a much younger looking Sherlock stood in the doorway that had led to the short hall, with only a towel wrapped around his waist, barely coming halfway down his thighs, with an accompanying look of confusion and amusement on his face. "I don't even remember taking this picture!" I giggled, a warm blush coming over my face.

"Well, I can tell you that you didn't blush like that when you did"

The next few pictures depicted Sherlock chasing the camera (me) around the room, holding up his towel with a determined, if not slightly manic look on his face. I couldn't stop laughing, and despite Sherlock's attempt to seem unamused he was laughing too. The following pictures seemed to be more or less random, pictures of Sherlock and I, Lestrade, Molly and occasionally Mycroft's disapproving face too. There were pictures from birthday's and Christmases and random holidays paid fir with Mycroft's money. There were more pictures from the flat too, random others that we couldn't place alongside incredibly memorable ones.

Another picture faded onto screen. I was sleeping on our old sofa, extremely babyfaced, my hair everywhere. The next picture loaded, and it was basically identical to the last. I looked up at Sherlock, "Why did you take these ones?" He shrugged slightly, continuing to look at the screen, which was now showing a third near identical picture of me sleeping on the sofa. "Sherlock?" I laughed.

"You looked... cute"

I laughed harder, "Did you just call me cute, Sherlock Holmes?"

"At the time, you looked cute"

Grinning, I leant up and kissed his cheek, "I'll be fair, you looked cue back then too - before that last growth spurt and you actually started looking older than 17" I laughed.

"Yes, yes - whatever" He kissed my forehead gently, before smiling back at the computer screen - that showed another picture the same as the last.

"How many bloody pictures did you take?"


	9. Chapter 9

I woke up with a scream, jumping up in bed. My hands gripped onto the sheets, my body shook, and I tried to get my breath. A cold sweat coated my forehead.

"Charlie?" Sherlock was wake immediately. He sat up, reading my facial expression. He waited for me to say something.

"It wa..." I let out a short breath as I trailed off, "It was... just... just a night-nightmare... 'm fine"

"No you're not"

I swallowed harshly, hesitantly turning to look at him. I shook my head, "I'm not"

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

I took a breath, long and deep, and let it out in a long sigh, "No"

I brought my knees up to my chest, clasping my hands in front of my shins. I took deep breaths, counting the seconds I breathed in and out. Sherlock moved himself over, closer to me. He sat in close to me, one leg bend, his foot to his other thigh, behind me, the other stretched along by my side. Gently he rested his hands on my waist. Even though he was right there, he didn't sit too close, I still had breathing space.

Sherlock's mind was elsewhere - several elsewheres in fact. While he had a vague idea of what had been playing over in my mind, he was trying to figure out my measurements, seeing if I was back at a more healthy size again, at the same time he was recounting every moment that we'd spent together since he'd come back, while in the same moment he wondered if this had ever happened while I'd been staying with Mycroft. Mycroft would never have been able to handle that.

Eventually I had calmed down, I was still and I could breath normally again. I tried to push my nightmare out of my head. With a sigh I leant back against Sherlock, tilting my head back to rest against his shoulder, "... I'm okay"

"Are you?"

"Are _you_?"

Sherlock all but rolled his eyes, "I am not the one who woke up screaming because of a nightmare, Charlie"

"No," then I added quietly, "but you twitch in your sleep, you say stuff"

He looked at me in thinly veiled shock, "...do I?"

I nodded, "Every now and again you'll say something, most of it doesn't make any sense though - a bunch of code names and phrases. It's fine, it's not like I'll say anything"

I felt the long breath he'd taken, exhale over my skin, "...I didn't know"

"You're nearly as bad as I was when we met," I sighed, staring into the dark of the room, I muttered "without the nightmares though - I don't remember you ever having a nightmare"

"I have" I twisted my head to look at him, "While I was away, and before, and every now and again"

Saddened, I frowned to myself, a guilt coming over me, "I never noticed"

"I've just never woken up screaming" he commented dryly, "Not that I mean it as anything against you"

I swallowed silently, bowing my head a little, "... we should go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you"

"It's okay, Charlie - I'm here for you"

I looked up at him, studying him again. There were no bruises now to discolour his skin, no blood, or stitches or painful red skin any more. No stiff joints, no old aches. The wounds he'd came home with were healed, but they now stood out as pale, raised scars, bridging and running along and across his body. They arched and spread, different shapes for different wounds, different textures for different healing processes - he looked like he'd been torn apart and glued back together again. Every scar was a crack, a fault, a weakness - a point at which he could break again. I was worried about that. I told him firmly, "And I'm here for you too"

He smiled, knowing what had gone through my mind. "Let's get back to sleep Charlie" We lay back down and I cuddled in against Sherlock's side, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathed. I wanted to sleep again, but my mind wasn't having any of that, so I continue to lie there in silence, watching and listening. I hadn't noticed, but Sherlock was watching me too, "There's something else, isn't there?"

I nodded, "... that was the first nightmare I've had since you came back"

He didn't say anything, just held me closer. His arms held me firmly behind my back, and I leant my head against his chest. Hesitantly, I reached for his arm, holding on gently, with my fingertips tracing his scars. And quickly I fell asleep like that, wrapped up in strong arms, protected, by Sherlock.


End file.
